Cruel Kindness
by UtterlyEnthralling
Summary: In which Beira reflects. Set during Wicked Lovely.


Disclaimer: I do not own Wicked Lovely, nor do I own any of the characters.

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Cruel Kindness

Beira leaned back into her chair, and aimlessly allowed her gaze to drift around the room. _Keenan's bedroom. _She did not know why, but once in a while, she grew pensive. Although, thankfully, times like these were few and far between.

She was jarred from her thoughts at the sound of the door opening. A badly bruised wood sprite silently stepped through the threshold with a tray in hand. "The drink you requested, my Queen." Beira took hold of the drink and delicately brought the glass to her lips. After realizing the sprite was still in the room, Beira pursed her ruby red lips and fixed her with an icy stare. "Leave," she intoned flatly. "Or would you like another pretty mark on your skin?" A cruel smirk adorned her lips now. With a "No, mistress," The wood sprite curtseyed and hastily retreated.

Alone once more, Beira let a low sigh escape her lips and turned her gaze to the window. Smug satisfaction bloomed across her features at the sight of the frost covered trees outside. Her court was powerful. _She_ was powerful. Her face slowly became blank. _Power did not come without costs._ She knew that all too well.

She had never meant to kill Miach. The last Summer King had been charming, courteous, and his attraction to her had been undeniable, right from their first meeting. Before she knew it, she found herself unable to resist his unrelenting pursuit of her, and their courts had developed an uneasy truce.

It was the night of Solstice, after their lovemaking, and he had been whispering into her ear. He spoke of peace between the courts, balance. He whispered promises of forever, of dances beneath the moonlight. These were the only times she had allowed herself to believe, _when it was just the two of them, alone, and in each other's arms_, if only for a little while.

_He told her he loved her._

She was surprised. It was the first time that he told her those three little words. Merely a moment later, she frowned. It was _not_, however, the first time he breached the subject of peace. She had always managed to deftly avoid the subject by pulling away and leaving. _And he always let her go_. Tonight, however, things seemed to be different.

As she made a move to get up, Miach took hold of her wrist, and pulled her back towards him. He hugged her from behind, his chest against her back.

"Beira, please..." He pleaded, his tone laced with a hint of exasperation.

"No." She responded.

"I love you." He repeated.

She answered with silence.

He sighed, and switched the subject. "Peace will be good, for everyone."

"No." She said again, frustration bubbling in her tone, while trying to wrench herself from his grasp. _Peace meant giving up power_. Both she and Miach had dominant personalities, and she knew that he would expect her to defer to him, even if it was just slightly. _She answered to no one but herself. _

She struggled now, desperate to get away, but he held fast. He was desperate as well, attempting to calm her. Inadvertently, he let some of his sunlight slip through. In her panic, she set loose a small snowstorm around the room. He would not let go, instead, trying to make her listen.

"Let me go!" She cried, inwardly cursing at how her voice was thick with tears.

"Please, just calm down..." He urged.

"No!" She screamed, hysterical now.

His touch was too hot, and it _burnedburnedburned._ He was ignoring her pleas, and so, she struck him. She didn't think, didn't stop, instead, just let her frustration and panic reign. When the sunlight faded from his body, and the light in his eyes dimmed, she numbly sank to her knees. She did not cry, just stared at his shell hollowly. Things felt unreal, like it was all a horrible nightmare.

Later, somehow finding herself back in the comforting familiarity of her mansion, Beira hugged herself, _for her was not there to hold her, would never hold her again_, and let the tears were soundlessly slip down her ivory cheeks. _She thinks, perhaps, that she loved him too._

Beira discovered that shortly after Miach's death, she was changing, becoming unlike herself. Whereas she was calm and unperturbed before, she found herself quickly growing angry, and developing a propensity for violence. In the back of her mind, she knew that her behaviour was not solely due to Miach's death. _Deep down, she knew that there was no longer someone to balance her. _

She had regretted his death, even going so far as to ask Far Dorcha to bring him back, but it could not be done. She felt heart wrenching regret, and utter helplessness, especially when she had learned that she was with child. _Miach's child, her child, a child born of both winter and summer._

When he was born, she named him Keenan, _Little King_, not as a means to cruelly mock him, as she later led him to believe, but because it was exactly what she intended for him to become: A king, someone to balance her. He looked like her, with icy blue eyes, his hair glinting with a sheen of frost.

Beira did not let herself grow attached to Keenan, leaving him in the care of the Hawthorn Girls. She ignored his attempts to gain her attention, turned a deaf ear to his cute cries of "Mama!" Coldly walking away from him, she felt her heart break, for she knew he was on the verge of bursting into tears, too young to understand why she rejected him, why she didn't love him.

Beira laughed bitterly, and took a gulp of her drink. She loved him, how could she not? He was her son, her own flesh and blood. But this was for the best, she repeated to herself, each and every day. One day, she saw him playing in the garden, three Hawthorn girls were keeping him entertained, and out of trouble. She saw him breathe frost. She stormed in, effectively startling him, and screamed at him to return to his room. _That was the day she actively began to push him away._

Beira antagonized him, taunted him, anything to make him hate her. She watched with relieved satisfaction, and a sense of growing depression, as he became not–hers. His eyes quickly changed from icy blue to verdant green. His hair no longer glinted with a sheen of frost, instead it shimmered like strands of copper. He no longer looked at her with sad soulful eyes, wanting to be accepted, but glared at her with fierce determination, making it known that he will not be so easily broken by her. _Oh, how Miach would be proud_. She thought jadedly.

_Keenan no longer called her "Mama," opting to call her by her name. _It was fitting, really, for she had never truly been a mother to him anyways, besides in the loosest sense of the word. Beira smiled sardonically, her gaze landing on Keenan's bed. She recalled that when he was still a child, she would sometimes silently slip into his room after he had drifted off to sleep, occupy the chair beside his bed, as she was doing now, and just watch him. It was only in those times, that she allowed herself to cry, for Keenan, for Miach, for herself, for the unfairness of it all. But again she told herself: _This was what needed to happen, what was best for everyone_.

When Keenan was a little older, she went to Irial, the Dark King. She made him an offer he couldn't refuse, in exchange for binding Keenan's powers_. Her court would provide his court with nourishment, always._ She knew, she could not allow Keenan to grow into full power because he would seek to destroy her, and walk the same path she did. He would be without someone to balance him, and then what would become of the world?

On the day that Keenan was old enough to leave her home, she had given him a cold and clear-cut explanation of how she had bound his powers, and informed him of the rules to the Game. _Rules made in favour of herself, of course._ He would search for his missing Summer Queen, the mortal that held half of his powers. Beira always followed the rules, _always_, and never did anything to hinder his search. The Winter Girl, whoever she happened to be at the time, did enough of that for her, anyways.

In the nine centuries that they had played this game, Beira had never once been nervous that he would actually find the girl. But this time, _this time_, was different. This Aislinn, _she was the one_. Beira knows it, and she will do anything to prevent her from taking the test.

A soft knock at the door brought her back to reality. The wood sprite from earlier took a step inside, and announced, "Keenan is approaching the mansion, my Queen." Beira nodded, and dismissed her with an uncaring wave of her hand. She downed the rest of her drink, and lightly ran her fingers over the strand of pearls hanging around the pale column of her throat. Sighing slightly, she proceeded to step out of the bedroom and begin descending the stairs that led to the foyer. Focusing her thoughts on Keenan, Beira allowed a callous smile to adorn her lips. The Winter court was powerful, _she_ was powerful. _And she would not allow anyone to take that away from her._

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Note: This is my first piece of writing, so I'm nervous. D: I hope I didn't do too badly of a job, though. I absolutely adore Melissa Marr and her Wicked Lovely Series~ When I first read Wicked Lovely, I disliked Beira's character because to me, she seemed evil.

But when I had discovered Rath and Ruins and made an account, someone had posted that Beira was interesting, I had left a post saying that the topic caused me to start liking Beira. Upon deeper thought, I really began liking her character, she's so complex, and this fic was my take on why she had made the choices leading up to Wicked Lovely. Sadly, I don't go on my account on the Rath anymore. –shy– But but but, I do read through things posted there.

Anywhoo, I think I've rambled enough. Please be nice, and leave a review. Any constructive criticism will be appreciated, and no flames please. ^^


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